Finding Freedom
by TanyaPotter
Summary: Our young hero, battle weary and fed up, has a run in with his old quidditch captain that opens a door to a whole new world. Deviates from HBP and DH. Viktor/Harry VK/HP. Three part. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Finding Freedom

Chapter 1

Pairings: Viktor/Harry

Bulgarian National Quidditch Team players: Chasers- Vasily Dimitrov, Clara Ivanova, Alexi Levski. Beaters: Harry Potter, Ivan Volkov. Keeper: Lev Zograf. Seeker: Viktor Krum

Summary: Our young hero, battle weary and fed up, has a run in with his old quidditch captain that opens a door to a whole new world. Deviates from HBP and DH.

AN: I know I'm horrible at updating my stories, but this is going to be short, only three chapters. I plan to have it finished by Christmas, and if I don't I give you all leave to lynch me. Enjoy.

XXXXX

He knew he shouldn't get as drunk as he was fast becoming in such a public place. He knew news and gossip about "drinking problem" would likely be somewhere on the cover of the' Daily Profit' or the weekly gossip magazine 'By the Hour.' But hell, he thought as he tossed back another fire whisky, he stunt today was no doubt going to appear anyways- might as well give them their desert.

"Well I'll be damned." A thick Scottish brogue rumbled next to him. "If it isn't little Harry Potter, all grown up." The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but the spike of annoyance at the man was fast overcome by the bartender setting down a newly refilled glass.

"Cheers." he mumbled, knocking back that glass too. It was odd, after about four of them the taste started to diminish. He probably couldn't tell whiskey from water at that point. He frowned at the bartender. Was the man watering down his drinks? He sniffed the glass. It didn't _smell _watered down, but you could never really tell. Water was scentless after all. He narrowed his eyes, gesturing for another.

"You might want to slow down a bit mate." The man spoke, amusement tainting his words.

Harry shoved the glass towards the stranger without much thought. "Does that taste watered down to you?" he demanded, unaware of just how slurred his words were becoming. He watched closely as the man picked it up and took a sip with laughing eyes. The man was scruffy- with ruffled short brownish red hair and an unshaven face. He was handsome in a strong cave man sort of way. Harry turned more fully on his bar stool and balanced himself on an elbow resting on the wood. He defiantly wouldn't mind getting to know the rugged stranger better that night.

"Tastes fine to me." The laughter was still there, clear on his face. Brown eyes met green… Familiar brown eyes. Harry frowned again, his slightly blurry vision not helping. The man took another sip, lips quirked. He was probably a few years older then him. Maybe he went to Hogwarts?

The younger of the two was getting ready to ask when a voice yelled down over the music. "Hey Wood- you coming or what?" As a wadded up napkin flew at the mans head with dangerous precision. Harry batted it away without much thought- reflexes sharp, despite his inebriated state.

"Oliver Wood!" He exclaimed with drunken delight. "I'd apologize for not recognizing you off the bat, but you look quite a mite different!" He was oblivious to the stumped Chaser leaning over the balcony, but Oliver wasn't.

"Start without me. I'll be up in a bit." He hollered back, the bar busy enough that no one else really paid attention. "So Harry. How have you been? You're looking a bit different yourself, by the way."

"I've been… ehh. You know, same old. Life is what it is what it is…" He trailed off, brows furrowed. "You stole my drink. Well, that's not very polite." He sat their seriously for a couple more moments before a chuckle escaped and he flagged down the weary bartender yet again. "Two rounds, if you please." He stated, dropping a hand to slap against the bar. "And how have you been? Still playing for Puddlemere and all that?"

"Aye. Going on seven years now. If you don't mind me asking, what's got you in such a tizzy? You're going to black out, if you're not careful. Strong stuff, fire whiskey."

"Tizzy? I'm not in a tizzy." He stated firmly. "I'm celebrating."

"Oh? What are we celebrating?" Oliver asked, holding up his glass to toast.

"My… resignation… from the auror program."

Oliver choked on his drink. "You quit the auror program?" He asked, incredulously. "Why? I heard you were the next Mad Eye Moody or some such rot."

"I quit," He said, trying to keep his body serious and stable. He held his glass closer to Oliver's face, one finger free and pointing at the man. "For exactly that reason. I'm no Moody… I'm much better looking." He finished with a crooked smirk.

Brown eyes studied him for a long minute as they finished their drinks in silence. "Why don't you join my friends and I? I'll introduce you." He rose and started leading the way through the crowd before Harry could protest. They navigated around the bar and up one of three stair cases that led to private balconies. They passed a guard wearing black slacks and a tight black short sleeve shirt with dual wand holsters strapped to each arm.

The room they entered was fairly large, with a private bar and an array of couches positioned around the room. There was a large roaring fireplace on the far wall- a welcome addition to the dreary rain that filled the city. Harry followed silently over to a circle of couches positioned around a large, regal looking round table. A cheery group of men ranging from about twenty to about forty sat around it, various bottle of liquor and glasses strewn across.

"'Bout bleedin' time Wood. Whose this?" The man that spoke was large and muscular, with dark skin and sharp blue eyes. He had short brown hair, cut through with a bald path that curved around his ear and the crooked tilt of a nose that had been broken too many times.

"This is Harry, he's an old friend of mine from Hogwarts. Harry, this is Brent McGill, Mikel Rouche and Kaiden Riley- our chasers. That's Ryan Smith and William Blake- our beaters and that's Warren Brown, our seeker."

They all greeted Harry willingly enough, some more enthusiastically then others, but all friendly. He found himself squished between Oliver and Warren before he knew what was happening, a full glass pressed into his hands and his new friends talking a mile a minute on all sides. Apparently they had won a game earlier that day, having beat the Falmouth Falcons 470 to 390, and were celebrating.

His plan to slow down on his drinking did not happen.

XXXXX

Harry woke slowly the next morning in a strange bed, with a fuzzy head, and without a warm body beside him. It was hardly a first for him- a habit that his well meaning friends had been trying to rid him of as of late. He sat up, royal blue comforter pooling around his waste and took in the rest of the room. It was very plain, with off white walls, blue drapes blocking out the sun, a bare desk and equally bare dresser. There were three doors- one across from the window and the other two side by side on the side wall.

He stood cautiously, head throbbing and mouth disgusting. He was a bit surprised to find himself wearing comfortable too big black pajama pants and lacking the ache in his neither regions that he was expecting. The first door he opened was a large walk in closet, a good amount of cloths hanging and a small pile on the floor in the corner. The door next to it led to a bathroom- also done in off white. The only color was an ugly navy blue shower curtain and a pile of muddy blue and gold quidditch gear kicked carelessly next to the shower. He took a minute to relieved himself and spent a couple more washing his face and freshening his mouth with a conjured toothbrush.

He found Oliver as soon as he exited the short hallway leading from the bedroom. The man was crouched down in front of a set of drawers, tanned skin dotted with freckles was stretched taunt over muscular back and arms. He was riffling around for something, closing one drawer and opening another. "Hey." Harry said, voice scratchy.

Oliver turned and looked over his shoulder. "Hey yourself." He looked as bad as Harry felt. His stubble had grown, standing out against his pale face, which was highlighted by the bruises smudged under his eyes and the large bruise that had purpled over his jaw- complements of a bludger- he vaguely remembered being told the night before. He turned back to the chest before he stood with a triumphant sound. He tossed a vial of brownish sludge to his visitor before he downed his own.

Harry looked at it wearily. He recognized the hangover elixir- he had taken it enough- but he really disliked the jittery feeling it left for hours after words. "Trust me" Oliver stated, already looking better. "You don't want a hangover for what I have planned today."

"What you have planned today?" He swallowed the goop with a grimace. A smirk was his answer.

XXXXX

"You know your problem?" Oliver asked a while later. They were sitting in a small café having breakfast and rehydrating themselves from the abuse they laid on their bodies the night before. He continued at Harry's cautiously amused look. "You hide from your fame. You allow them to hound you and use you because you refuse to step up and take control of it."

"I don't want fame, Oliver, or anything that comes with it. I just want piece and quiet."

"And that's what's funny. Use that power of yours! Use that fame to _get _your piece and quiet. People will do whatever you tell them to do. If you make them leave you alone they will. And the reporters? Tell them to leave you be and if they don't you've got an arsenal of things you can threaten them with- libel, stalking, trespassing." He shrugged with a shake of his head. "You don't have to put up with any of it. You choose to by refusing to do anything about it."

Harry gestured to a nearby table, where a patron was reading the Daily Profit, where a picture of him in full Auror gear after a training mission. He had a cut on his cheek, his hair was more windblown then normal, and he was smiling- a full on real smile, talking to some of the other initiates in the background. His eyes were glowing with power, even from the drab ink of the paper. 'HARRY POTTER QUITS AUROR TRAINING PROGRAM.' A smaller picture was visible in the bottom corner. It was of him and Oliver sitting at the bar talking and laughing. 'QUITTING RESPONSIBILITY- WHAT WILL HARRY POTTER DO NOW?'

"I cant stop them from writing. I cant stop people from being interested."

"No, you cant. You can control what they say. Talk to them, give an interview. Tell them some form of the truth instead of letting them use their imagination. It's a lot harder for them to spin ridiculous fable's when they have direct quotes from you. Believe me, I know."

Harry was silent, unsure what to say. It made sense, but did he really want to throw his unwanted fame around to get what he wanted? Wasn't that exactly what he didn't want? "I get what you're saying, really, I do. But using my fame to get what I want is exactly what I don't want to do."

"Why?" The question was simple, but had a hundred answers.

"Because… I just, I'm not…" He sighed harshly. "Growing up I was famous for something I had nothing to do with. When I left Hogwarts I trained and I hid and I fought. It was war and I was one soldier. Greater people then me made a lot more sacrifices and did a lot greater of things. Yea, I killed Voledmort, but I didn't do it alone- I couldn't have done it alone. Nobody cares about them, do you even know the names of the people that were with me when it happened?"

Oliver shook his head sadly, a bit of shame and understanding in his eyes. "Kingsley, Hestia, Bill, Remus and Tonks. Hestia was killed setting up, Tonks was killed during the Ritual. Remus ended up in a coma for 11 days. Bill had to have his arm, leg and three of his ribs regrown. Kingsley, well, Kingsley was a bit worse for wear, but came out better then the rest of us. But nobody cares about any of that. They want a figurehead. I'm not that guy Oliver! I'm not even twenty yet. I don't want to settle down in a big house with spouse and a couple of kids. I know other people want that. You know I read an article guessing what I would name my children? The top picks were Lily, James, Sirius, Albus and Even. Can you believe that?"

"People are thoughtless." He scratched his head, brows furrowed. "Look, have you told anyone else this? I was at Hogwarts for the final showdown, and I didn't know any of this. I don't think anybody knows what actually happened. Why don't you find someone you trust and share the story. Give the people something real to appreciate instead of gossip and hearsay." His voice lowered. "It might help you too, to get it off your chest."

"Yea… I don't know Oliver. I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask. Now, lets get out of here. I have something to show you."

XXXXX

Oliver apparated the two of them to a huge field surrounded by miles of short, even grass. A quidditch stadium dwarfed them a hundred feet ahead, with various flags flapping around the top. "Come on!" Oliver called, a few paces ahead. They didn't head to the main entrance where visitors would line up, but rather went around to the right where a smaller door was almost unnoticeable. A small circular dot was imprinted to the right. Oliver pressed his wand to the imprint and the door opened with a swoosh.

A clean stone hallway curved around out of sight in both directions. Oliver immediately started down the way, obviously more comfortable here then Harry. They bypassed two doors labeled 'Locker Room' and 'Visitors Locker Room' almost immediately. The hall continued another ten feet and widened into the entrance that the players would fly from.

"This is the home entrance. If we had followed the hall the other way, it would have led to the visitors entrance." Oliver explained absently.

Harry had to pause when the exited onto the pitch. It was glorious. It made the Hogwarts pitch seem like a toy. Instead of single stands rising into the air, solid sheets of bleachers spanned the stadium, from ground level clear up past the rings. The glass from private boxes sparkled in a solid circle about half way up and the hoops gleamed in the sunlight. The grass was a deep emerald color and swayed in the breeze coming down from the open roof.

He had been in the stadium at the world cup of course, but viewing a crowded room filled with hundreds of thousands of people jostling and yelling from up in the stands looked entirely different from the vastness of an empty stadium from the ground.

"Wow." He mumbled in appreciation.

Oliver laughed from his side. "Pretty impressive, yea? Took me a while to get use to. And can I just say- the look on your face now doesn't look much different then the look on your face when you were eleven."

Harry glared at the taller mans laughter. "Come on." He said, slapping him on the shoulder, still chuckling. Two top of the line brooms were waiting propped against the stands. They were bulkier then his firebolt, with thicker handles and more sturdy looking foot rests. 'Thunderbolt' was inscribed in thick scrawl along the handle.

Oliver grabbed both of them and tossed one to Harry. Green eyes looked questioningly at the older man. "What are we doing here anyways?" he asked, rubbing his hand along smooth wood.

"Getting your mind off things?" Oliver asked more then stated.

"You're lying, but I'll go along with it."

"Then get your ass in the air!" He commanded jokingly.

"Aye Aye Captain."

The thunderbolt wasn't as fast as the firebolt, but it was a lot more steady. His firebolt was a lot more touchy and would respond to the subtlest of touches- even those he hadn't meant to make. The thunderbolt was still responsive, but required a clear shift or pull to move. Though no words were spoken they ended up in an unofficial race around the pitch- with a fair bit of jolting and pushing.

"You always were the fastest on the pitch!" Oliver joked breathlessly as the came to a stop a few minutes later.

Harry laughed, eyes clear and gleaming. "Gods, it's been way to long since I've been on a broom!"

"You ready to step it up a bit?" He landed near the quidditch chest. Harry hovered above him and caught the beaters bat as it was tossed to him. He pulled back wearily as Oliver moved to unchain the vicious black balls.

"Bludgers? Neither of us are beaters Oliver."

"Ahh, but you could have been. Could have been pretty damn good too. If we hadn't needed a seeker and if we hadn't had the twins- you would have been one."

Harry tossed the bat up in the air, refamiliarizing himself with the weight and shape. He was ready when the first bludger sped towards his head. He swung his arm and sent it flying away with a resounding 'CRACK.' He felt the echo of it down his arm and relished in the shock. His smile grew bigger.

He looked around to see a couple of dozen various targets had popped up in the air. Half were colored blue and the other half were red. "This is a game our beaters practice with." He shouted over the wind and gestured to the scoreboard that had changed to 'Red' and 'Blue' instead of 'home' and 'guest.' "It's simple. You're blue. I'm red. You are supposed to hit as many red targets as you can, without letting me hit any of the blue ones. We go for ten minutes. Clear?"

"Easy enough." He shot back, voice cocky as he swung at the bludger that was pelting back towards him. Oliver blocked it and sent it spinning towards on of the blue targets on the other side of him. Harry accelerated faster then he thought the Thunderbolt would handle and managed to keep the ball from colliding. A moment later a '1' popped up on the scoreboard. Harry didn't have time to appreciate it as he dove to catch Oliver's rebuttal.

Five minutes in the second bludger was released, though Harry wasn't sure how. By the end of the ten minutes Harry had used every part of his broom and bat to hit the balls, and had taken quite a few hits himself. He was panting and aching, but was calm and happy. He was able to look at the scoreboard for the second time. 'Blue' had 75 points, and 'Red' had 8.

Oliver landed next to him, his own share of bruises and blood visible. "Ahh, guess that's why I'm a keeper." He joked as he whipped blood off his lip.

"Aye, I'd stick with that if I were you."

"I admit, I was half expecting you to bring me a joke Wood." A thick brogue hollered from the sidelines. Two men were walking towards them. The one that Harry assumed spoke was a big man, nearly six and a half feet in he had to guess, and thicker then most. His hair was dark and cropped close to his head and dark eyes were narrowed at the two. The second wasn't nearly as tall- likely about six foot even. He was clean shaven, with his equally dark hair neatly styled. He wore neatly pressed robes and his leather shoes were polished to gleaming.

"Harry, this is Grigor and Mihail. This is Grigor, the Bulgarian national quidditch coach, and Mihail- the owner of the team."

"Bulgarian?" Harry asked in confusion. "We're in Bulgaria?"

"Aye." Grigor rumbled. "And this was a job interview. You passed. Welcome to the team."

Harry stared from one man to the other, blank face hiding his confusion. He finally turned to Oliver for an answer.

"Well, you did say you wanted to try something new." The man shrugged innocently.

XXXXX

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Finding Freedom

Chapter 2

Pairings: Viktor/Harry

Bulgarian National Quidditch Team players: Chasers- Vasily Dimitrov, Clara Ivanova, Alexi Levski. Beaters: Harry Potter, Ivan Volkov. Keeper: Lev Zograf. Seeker: Viktor Krum

Summary: Our young hero, battle weary and fed up, has a run in with his old quidditch captain that opens a door to a whole new world. Deviates from HBP and DH.

AN: I know I'm horrible at updating my stories, but this is going to be short, only three chapters. I plan to have it finished by Christmas, and if I don't I give you all leave to lynch me. Enjoy.

XXXXX

Last Time:

"Harry, this is Grigor and Mihail. This is Grigor, the Bulgarian national quidditch coach, and Mihail- the owner of the team."

"Bulgarian?" Harry asked in confusion. "We're in Bulgaria?"

"Aye." Grigor rumbled. "And this was a job interview. You passed. Welcome to the team."

Harry stared from one man to the other, blank face hiding his confusion. He finally turned to Oliver for an answer.

"Well, you did say you wanted to try something new." The man shrugged innocently.

XXXXX

"I don't really understand what's going on." Harry said a few minutes later, seated in the Coaches office, a pile of papers and a cup of tea in front of him.

Mihail spoke up. "Oliver contacted us early this morning. One of our beaters is retiring at the end of the season. We weren't officially looking for a replacement yet, we hadn't even announced Pyotr's retirement- but those in the sport know. We weren't really expecting to see anything special- no offence Wood, but you are impressive. If you want it, the spots yours."

Harry nodded, eyes still a bit dazed. "If I were to agree, what would it entail?"

"Well… From November to the end of January we practice twice a day during the week, and once on Saturdays. Monday through Fridays we meet from five am to eleven am, and then again from two pm to five pm. Saturdays we only have our afternoon sessions and Sundays are free. All members of the team are expected to make public appearances and sometimes give team interviews. You are allowed to do extra- such as calendar and modeling spreads with permission from the Coach."

"Everything you do would be considered to reflect on the team. You will be expected to stay out of trouble- legal and ethical. You will not be allowed to consume alcohol during the week, except at certain social functions, and only then in moderation. Behavior altering potions and muggle drugs are not allowed- ever."

"Fighting within the team is to be done behind closed doors and will not be allowed to go on for any extended period of time. The team is family, you will look out for them on and off the pitch as they will look out for you. You will show a united front to the public."

"You will be compensated thus: Each event is broken down. The stadium itself gets 15%. Each team gets 40% to break down amongst itself. The owner gets 5% and the coach gets 4%. Each of the seven players get 3%. 5% goes towards equipment and maintenance, and the remaining 5% goes towards the teams personal healer and medical bills. Now, if you're doing the math, you'll realize this is only 95%. The other 5% from each and every game is saved by the International Quidditch Association to be given as a bonus to the teams that make it to the World Cup."

"Games normally have about 3000 viewers at 3 galleon per ticket. You would be making about 270 galleons per game at the beginning of the season. The amount of viewers tend to grow as the season goes on. The world cup can hold 100,000 spectators. If you participate in the world cup, you not only make about 9000 galleons, you also get a bonus. Even without the championship, and will minimum spectators, the 29 seasonal games would afford you more then 7300 galleons per season. Bonuses, interviews and other publicity can easily double that."

"Games span from February to August, every Saturday. During the season we still practice twice a week Monday to Thursday. We have a light Friday afternoon practice but otherwise rest for the games. You may be put on a particular diet if you're not doing well enough. After the season you have two months to do as you please, until we resume off season practices in November."

He finally stopped talking and they all looked expectantly at Harry. "This is… A lot to take in. So, basically, you would own me for ten months of the year."

"Yes." Mihail answered promptly.

Harry nodded. "It sounds… Rough."

"Yes." Mihail said again, a hint of a smile curling his lips.

Harry thought for a minute. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? Something completely different, something challenging but careless. Something he actually enjoyed doing, and could make him ache in a pleasant way instead of from the after effects of dark curses. Something he had to work and struggle towards. Something he had to earn.

"You know what? Why the hell not." He stated, reaching for the quill lying across the thick stack of paperwork.

Mihail's smile grew as he sat forward to start the process.

XXXXX

Being late summer Harry had four months before he would start training with the team. He spent the time relaxing and preparing for his departure from London. He had been working with a Real Estate Agent and had found a property he had fallen in love with a few minutes outside Sophia. It was a small two story, built of brick and logs. The first story held the kitchen, bathroom, sitting room, den and guest bedroom.

The kitchen was fairly large, prefurnished with stainless steel appliances, dual ovens, a dishwasher and a variety of wood countertops and cupboards. An archway allowed entry to the small, but cozy dining room already equip with a small round table made of a rich red wood called Padauk that he had never heard of before, and four matching chairs. It was open to the other side, freely allowing passage from the sitting room to the small eatery.

The wall that went between the kitchen and sitting room was a bar almost four feet high, with two barstools neatly hidden under the lip on the sitting room side. The sitting room was small and cozy, and bare of decoration and furniture when he purchased it. The floor was polished walnut and the walls were a mixture of polished wood paneling and rough, rustic looking brick- the brick being on the outside walls, with a small door leading to the back yard.

He had purchased a sinfully comfortable couch and sofa set in a deep, midnight blue and had added matching drapes over the huge window that took up the majority of the back wall. He had purchased a simple muggle entertainment system that was set up in the corner- not that he expected to use it much, but sometimes the silence could get to him.

A large fireplace stood on the wall adjacent to the kitchen and went clear through so either side appeared in a separate room- the sitting room and the den. Moving to the den required two small steps down and opened into his second favorite room. A large antique mahogany desk stood proudly in one corner, angled to be able to see out the large window to the left and the door leading in. Floor to ceiling shelves were built into the back wall of room and two comfortable armchairs were situated near the fire- large enough for him to curl up in with a book and a cup of coco on the cold snowy days he was assured he would see plenty of. The corner next to his desk had a set of spiral stairs going up to the next level.

The other side of the sitting room- next to the dining room, was a small hallway that led to the main bath, a closet and the guest bedroom. The main bath was nice, also done in wood, with both a modern walk in shower containing multiple showerheads from several angles, and a claw foot bathtub. A toilet and sink took up the other corner and a thin closet was tucked away next to the door.

The guest bed was nice enough, with a simple four poster queen bed and a matching dresser and bedside table. He had added simple sheets and blankets in the same shade as his sofa and a matching lamp for the bedside table. It was simple, but would work well enough.

His absolute favorite part of the house though was his bedroom. The stairs in the den opened up to the corner of the second story, with was quite a bit smaller then the first level of the house. The area around the stairs was divided into two areas- an entrance hall (for lack of better term) and a large walk in closet. The same steps that had lowered into the den rose to his bedroom, and was the only boundary. A large open room spanned the majority of the space, with a four poster king sized bed centered against the back wall. He had gotten emerald green satin sheets for his bed, with a thick black comforter with deep green undertones. It was like sleeping on a cloud.

Huge privacy windows took up most of the wall space, with sliding glass doors opening to a wrap around deck that took up the rest of the floor space. Large sky lights allowed even more light in and gave him a perfect view of the sky when he lay in bed. The remaining corner of the upstairs consisted of his master bath- nearly a mirror image of the one below. Instead of the claw foot tub though, a large Jacuzzi took up the corner, equip with built in benches and jets guaranteed to work away even the worst muscle aches.

The house sat on five acres. Decent sized threes filled most of the space, already turning brilliant colors in anticipation of the coming fall. The back door led to a paved expanse of ground that housed a good sized swimming pool and bigger then normal hot tub. The house itself was set back from the main road almost half a mile, a small nearly unnoticeable road leading to it. A 'U' shaped drive curved around the front and a three car garage sat off to the left side.

It had been a little spendier then he had expected for the fairly modest size, but as soon as he went inside he had know it was where he wanted to live. He had spent several nights there, despite still technically staying in London and had begun to familiarize himself with the nearby towns. He had also purchased new sets of cloths and necessities so he could stock his new house but still leave stuff in London for when he traveled back and forth.

He had stocked his cupboards with non perishable foods, and purchased a whole new set of cooking tools, pots, pans, dishes, a good knife block and whatever else had caught his attention. He knew he was spending more money then he probably should, but he had been looking forward to buying a house and making it into whatever he wanted for as long as he could remember. He was damn well going to do it right.

A month before he made the move he had taken Oliver up on his advice to get his story to the public. He had spent nearly a week writing and rewriting what had happened, trying to capture the emotion, the desperation and the teamwork that had gone into killing Voldemort. He found in his first draft that he had downplayed a lot of what had happened because it was so painful to think about. He knew he couldn't do that- not if he wanted the public to really understand the sacrifices that those on the front line had made.

He spoke of how Voldemort had created his horcruxes and the difficulty they had in destroying them. He talked about Dumbledores death as a result from one of them, and how hard the Order had worked to keep themselves together after their leaders demise. He praised the late Severus Snape for his dedication to the cause, for his daily sacrifice and ultimate sacrifice. He told the world that Snape had indeed been the final blow that killed Dumbledore, but how the man had entreated his former pupil to do the deed in hopes of sparing an innocent soul- especially considering he wouldn't live longer then another week or so on his own.

The spoke of the countless hours of preparation and planning that had gone into the final strike- how Hestia and Remus had found an ancient ritual meant to cleanse the earth of a presence so corrupt it had the ability to upset the delicate balance of light and dark that could only survive together and in harmony. He told of how the brave woman that had found the solution was the first to perish during the delicate drawing of runes when lone death eater had crept up and cast a blood boiling curse at her unprotected back.

He told of how the newly wed Tonks was cut down during the ritual, leaving behind her new born son and her husband, who was forced by magic and determination to continue on despite his overwhelming grief, and how his raw magic and his were magic had turned against each other at the loss of his mate, leaving him in a coma for nearly two weeks. He spoke of how Bill had been hit with bone shattering curses by two different people simultaneously but never faltered in his chanting. He spoke of how their new Minister of Magic had been the strong presence that kept them focused and gave them the courage to continue despite ever present grief and desperation.

He listed, name by name, every single person that was lost in that final battle- having memorized them in the following days and spent nearly two weeks attending funerals. He apologized to the world for the lives lost- knowing that everyone in Europe had been touched in one way or another by the war, and thanked everyone that participated for their courage and contribution to keeping to their values and knowledge of what was right.

He went on for nearly seven pages total, and only on the last paragraph of the last page did he speak of leaving the auror program. He simply stated, with everyone keeping this new knowledge in mind- could they really expect him to keep fighting? Would they want to in his position?

Luna had taken over half of the work at the Quibbler, and it was her that he sent the pages to. She took his request to publish it a step farther and printed an exclusive edition, word for word, that was released the next day. It had sold out within hours and required a reprint the following two days. For the first time in years his heart had felt light and free- free of the knowledge, free of the burden and free to allow himself happiness again. And for the first time- the public seemed to agree with him. Direct quotes from his article continued to pop up for weeks afterwards, and amazingly enough, none of it was spun in a negative way.

XXXXX

The first day of practice was accompanied by snow flurries and was lit by the circular spot lights that surrounded the pitch. Thankfully their practice robes were thick enough to keep the worst of the bite away. He realized that first day that- even at his most competitive- Oliver was Childs play compared to Grigor. The man was a slave driver. They started the morning with introductions- though the team had been notified before the two month break who the replacement beater was. They were running warm ups immediately after.

The entire six hour practice, actually, took place on the ground. The ran laps and sprints, did strength building and cardio workouts, practiced hand/eye coordination, agility and team work- and then did it again. Coach, as he had been told to call the man, had a seemingly endless supply of games and exercises devoted to learning each others reactions and signals. He and Ivan got to know each others body language very quickly. The chasers worked together on their own exercises and he had Viktor doing things to increase his speed and reaction time.

By the time eleven rolled around he was boneless. He rinsed off in the locker room- the rest of the team nearly as tired as he was after a long hiatus, so talking was scarce- and apparated directly to his bed. He set an alarm to wake him in time to eat before afternoon practice and then passed out.

He woke up two hours later, already feeling his muscles stiffening. He forced himself up and ate a hearty lunch, feeling more famished then he could remember being, before he went back to the pitch. The afternoon was actually spent in the air, thankfully, though the usually unnoticeable muscles used to balance on his broom felt like they were being pulled from his bones.

The rest of the week went the same and he spent Sunday snoozing on the couch with a cozy throw blanket, despite his earlier determination to go out and get some things accomplished. The rest of the month went about the same way, though as time progressed he became use to the daunting practices and even came to enjoy them to a certain extent.

The team was more welcoming then he expected and by the end of that first month he felt like he had known them for ages. He also came to the conclusion that, though he had technically known Viktor for the better part of a year, he really knew nothing of the older man. For example- the tournament wasn't the first time he had been to England- he had actually lived in Wiltshire for the better part of two years when he was growing up, before his father took them back to Bulgaria. He also found out quickly that the man had a flat in Sophia when he ran into him at a market in town.

Little things kept popping up that brought them closer together- first their mutual love of seeking, then their similar taste in food and alcohol (which had been discovered during a team trip to an upscale restaurant to celebrate surviving the first month of practice). They were both the youngest of the team- by five years for Viktor and eight years for Harry to reach the next youngest. The more time they spent together the more they realized how alike they were.

The second month found Harry with enough energy between practices to actually be useful for something other then sleep. He fell into a pattern of growing contentment, happy to get up and work his body to its limits. He found himself eating nearly three times as much as he had before, though he wasn't gaining any excess weight. His muscles were firming up nicely though, and he was even starting to feel more energized then he ever had before, despite the grueling practices.

He was happy, there wasn't really much he could think of that could make life better then it was. He should have known of course, that it wouldn't last forever.

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To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Finding Freedom

Chapter 3

Pairings: Viktor/Harry

Bulgarian National Quidditch Team players: Chasers- Vasily Dimitrov, Clara Ivanova, Alexi Levski. Beaters: Harry Potter, Ivan Volkov. Keeper: Lev Zograf. Seeker: Viktor Krum

Summary: Our young hero, battle weary and fed up, has a run in with his old quidditch captain that opens a door to a whole new world. Deviates from HBP and DH.

AN: THIS CHAPTER HAS A LEMON. I WILL BE MARKING IT OUT, FEEL FREE TO SKIP OVER IT IF IT'S NOT YOUR CUP OF TEA, OR IF YOU'RE UNDER 18. It's not a very explicit lemon, but I'm not taking any risks.

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this, I'm glad its brought some enjoyment to your lives!

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Last Time:

The second month found Harry with enough energy between practices to actually be useful for something other then sleep. He fell into a pattern of growing contentment, happy to get up and work his body to its limits. He found himself eating nearly three times as much as he had before, though he wasn't gaining any excess weight. His muscles were firming up nicely though, and he was even starting to feel more energized then he ever had before, despite the grueling practices.

He was happy, there wasn't really much he could think of that could make life better then it was. He should have known of course, that it wouldn't last forever.

XXXXX

The first game was against Finland. It was a mere four degrees Celsius, and the ominous clouds threatened rain. Despite the horrible weather the stands were packed- fuller then normal, according to Coach. About 33% fuller, actually- even taking into consideration the higher volume that the first game normally brought.

They dawned their scarlet gear in silence, each focused on a different aspect of the game and gathering themselves. Harry smiled, a flashback of dawning his fairly similar Gryffindor robes for that first game all those years ago. The butterflies were the same now as they had been back then.

A friendly hand clapped his shoulder, drawing him from his memories. He looked over his shoulder to see the bulky form of the seeker standing behind him. The man shot him an encouraging grin but didn't speak. He nodded across the room where the rest of the team was gathering for their pregame pep talk.

"All right team, first game of the season. You've worked hard and trained hard. You've conditioned and you've sweat and you've bled for this. You're ready for the season. Zograf! I've seen you stop ever attempt at a goal during a seven hour game against one of the top ranked teams in the league. A complete shut out. You're very possibly the best keeper out here."

"Chasers! You've been together for eight years. You've been to the world cup together. Finland doesn't have that advantage. Conway is new this year, and Browne was last year. They don't have the dynamic, the trust, that you do. Use it. Potter- You're new. You're inexperienced- a greenie. They are already counting you out. The weak link. They don't understand that I wouldn't have a greenie on my team if he wasn't bloody fantastic! You and Volkov knock them from the air! Krum! Eyes sharp, hands quick- keep your head in the game."

"This is our season! This is the year we take the world cup! To victory!" The team let out a roar of agreement and their loud jostling voices continued until they had taken their positions in the air.

The game was fierce. Harry had viewed numerous quidditch games over the years but viewing and being in the middle of the chaos were incomparable. Even training and mock games couldn't fully prepare him for unrelenting viciousness that surrounded the players from the moment the balls were released.

At first it seemed the two teams were fairly evenly matched, each scoring in succession for the first fifteen minutes or so. The first fifteen minutes had been for the players on the Bulgarian team to observe the inner workings of their competition. They watched for plays, watched how Finland interacted with each other, how involved the beaters were with the chasers, which goal post their keeper seemed to favor. Then they kicked things up. Over the next half hour the score skyrocketed from 30-30 to 60-170.

The match lasted about an hour and a half total, with Krum unremarkably catching the snitch. He had it in his hand before the other seeker realized he had found it. The ending score was 110-420. They would have won the match with or without the snitch, and the worst injury for their team had been a dislocated shoulder that was fixed less then five minutes of being back on the ground.

The locker room was full of shouting, cheering and loud talking. They had to quiet down for the debriefing with coach but the team was soon showered, dressed and ready to celebrate the start of a great season. They had to fight through the horde of fans and reporters that were waiting outside the locker room doors but eventually ended up at a place called Café Europa. Café Europa was not, in fact, a café at all, but a cozy place with a downstairs bar and an upstairs club.

The downstairs was pretty full when they got there but the team managed to get a table big enough for them. They were pretty famished and took a good hour to enjoy a delicious dinner and a pint or two before they really started celebrating. They finally headed up the stairs, somehow in even better spirits then they had been at the end of the game.

The club was pretty typical- flashing strobe lights, loud music (though how it wasn't heard downstairs was a mystery), a mass of sweaty, thrumming bodies and another bar with its own crowd. The drinks started flowing and the team lost themselves to the night.

Harry found himself encased in the middle of the dance floor with another faceless stranger pressed against his back. He had danced with several already, though they tended to find someone more interested when they were unable to gain his attentions. He wondered briefly how long this one would try as he allowed his head to fall back, eyes still closed, when a pair of rough hands managed to find a very sensitive spot on the underside of his hip bones.

The nameless man felt the jolt the first time and dug his fingers in, hoping to get an even better reaction. Harry groaned quietly, the alcohol making him just fuzzy enough to forget not to enjoy it. The man pressed even closer, his bulge pressing demandingly against the small of his back. Rough hands stroked up his taunt abdomen, his shirt having been discarded to the small table Viktor and Zograf had domineered some time ago, and even further to brush against peaked nipples. Harry groaned again and lowered his own arms to hold the mans hands back against the oh so pleasurable flesh of his hips.

He could feel the stranger smile against his neck before teeth nipped under his jaw. A throat cleared loudly in front of him and Harry opened his eyes to see who wanted his attention. It took a second for his eyes to focus. "Oliver!" He finally exclaimed. He pulled free of the man behind him and through his arms around his friends neck. A deep chuckle filled his ear and strong arms wrapped around him in return and lifted him off the ground.

"Wait." Harry said as he was set back on his feet. "We're in Finland. What are you doing here?" He asked, finally noticing that Oliver wasn't alone.

"Oh, our match was over quick- only lasted 45 minutes. We knew you were playing your first game today and we weren't about to miss it!"

"Aye! Good job kid! But just wait- we're going to slaughter you when our teams play!" Blake, the Puddlemere beater, growled jokingly.

"The rest of the teams around here somewhere. We figured this was as good a place as any to celebrate! And we hadn't seen you in a couple of months!"

A hand gripped his arm painfully and pulled him around before he could reply. He finally got a look at the man he had been dancing with and felt himself shiver. The guy was tall- at least 6'2", with short black hair and stubble across his square jaw. His muscles were bulging out of golden skin and his hands were big enough to nearly enclose his upper arm. "Do you mind?" The man growled at Wood. "We're busy."

"No." Harry stated, voice confident and hiding his annoyance. "We're not." He wrenched his arm out of the other mans hand, ignoring the sunburn like feeling that over took the abused skin.

"Yes, we are." He was getting angry. "I'm so sick of stupid little sluts thinking they can get a man all riled up and lead him on- and then just walk away. It doesn't work like that." He gripped Harry's slim wrist this time and started pulling him out of the crowd and towards the stairs.

The smaller man waved Oliver off as he started to step forward and allowed himself to be pulled until they were in front of the stairs. There was a very small alcove on either side and Harry wrenched the man sideways until he was backed into it. "What's your name?" He asked, stroking down the mans stomach.

"Jussi."

"Jussi. I'm Harry. Now." He reached the bulging manhood that seemed to have grown with his anger. "I'm here celebrating a victory with my team. I am having a good time dancing. Now, you came up to me. You started dancing with me." His grip was getting tighter and tighter. I have no intention of going home with anyone here or anywhere else. If you grinding you cock against my arse left you with a problem then you should go take care of it." The man whimpered as his grip grew tighter still. Harry lowered his voice. "I am not a slut. I am not leading you on. You're lucky I even let you touch me as much as you did. You're going to leave here, and let us finish our celebration in peace." He tugged on the softened flesh painfully. "Yes?"

The bigger man nodded, face scrunched. As soon as Harry released him and stepped back the man grabbed his sex protectively and practically fled down the stairs. Harry shook his head in disgust and wiped his hand on his tight dark jeans. A laugh in his ear and a friendly clap on his shoulder brought him back from his own angry thoughts and back to the fun.

XXXXX

The next morning was spent in a miserable ball on the couch, nursing a pot of tea and trying to rid himself of the terrible handover that had taken root in his skull. He didn't have any hangover potions, not after the spiel about no drinking at the start of practice. The pain potions he had from that first month he knew wouldn't help this kind of pain and so he settle for the muggle pills he kept. They took time, however, and Harry stayed in his woeful position until they either kicked in or he dehydrated his body.

He had plans to meet with Viktor for lunch at 1:00 and discuss his first game, and he was determined to make it. 12 o'clock came around and he drug himself up the stairs to soak in his Jacuzzi tub for a bit, hoping it would take the ache out of his muscles.

He was dressed and seated at their prepicked café by 12:55, large sunglasses in place despite the cloud cover. One o'clock came, then 1:10... He was on his second cup of coffee by the time his company arrived at 1:15, and the man did not look very happy.

"Hey. I was starting to think you weren't coming. What happened to you last night? You disappeared."

Viktor stared at him for a long moment. "I didn't think you vuld notice." He finally said.

"Of course I noticed." Harry frowned. "Where'd you go?"

"Just home. I didn't feel much like celebrating."

The younger opened his mouth to argue the ridiculousness of that statement- the man had been in just as good of spirits as the rest of the team- but he stopped himself. "Okay," He said instead, studying his grumpy counterpart. "but why didn't you tell anyone you were leaving?"

"It vasn't important."

"I looked for you for an hour!" he said incredulously.

"You were plenty vell occupied vhen I left."

"… Okay…" He said again and then shook his head. The somewhat awkward silence that fell was broken by the waitress coming and taking their orders. "So… What did you think of the game?" He asked when she left.

"It vas fine." Silence followed.

"That's it?! It was fine?" Harry's annoyance soared. His head was pounding, his stomach churning and his eyes were aching with lack of real sleep. His arm was stiff and sore from where it had taken a bludger and he was still a bit annoyed at the older man for disappearing. "Why are we even here if that's all you have to say?" He demanded in a loud whisper, reaching up to rub his temples.

Viktor stared at him silently for a long minute before he responded. "That's a good question." He said gruffly. He stood up and tossed a colorful wadded up lev* on the table. "I vill see you at practice."

"Vik!" Harry called after him. "Viktor!" He shouted again, ignoring the eyes now watching the two of them. "Damn it." He swore, half rising to his feet before he felt the ripple of apparition coming from the alley he had disappeared into. He dropped back into his chair and rested his head in his hands.

A soft thud on the table had him raising his head to take in the site of a dish full of warm croissants and a bowl of melted butter and honey to dip them in- Viktor's favorite. He sent a tight smile of thanks to the waitress and reached for one, hoping it would settle his angry stomach.

XXXXX

Practices over the next three days were a tense affair. It was odd indeed for the team to see the two of them not speaking, they usually spent the milling around in the locker room together. The practices themselves were rougher then normal and the team was exhausted by the time they headed for the showers.

On the third day Viktor bypassed showering all together. He gathered the cloths he had worn that morning and disappeared with a slam of his locker door.

"What is his problem?!" Harry finally snapped in annoyance, more to himself then anything but the team heard all the same.

Zograf glanced at him appraisingly for a minute before he tossed a magazine at him. It was dated to a couple of months before and a large picture of him and Oliver walking together filled the cover. He recognized it of course- it had been the night he had woken up in Oliver's bed after running into him at the bar. Harry looked mussed in the picture. His cloths had been from the day before, and cleansing charms could only do so much. His hair was messier then normal and circles were visible under his tired eyes.

'Harry Potter's Bachelor Status in Question?' was in bold print below the photo. He flipped through until he found the article- an article detailing the apparent love affair between the sought after Harry Potter and star quidditch player Oliver Wood. The article itself was rubbish; a sleuth of speculations and guesses, ranging from the possibility of a secret relationship dating back to Hogwarts, to a passionate reunion and unbreakable relationship.

The pictures that accompanied it were the only reason people could find truth in the garbage. The writer had managed to get pictures of the two of them from Hogwarts, pictures from the bar that night (including Harry sitting on Oliver's lap), the two of them leaving the next morning, and a couple of random times they had met up before Harry left to Bulgaria. He could see how a stranger would believe it. He tossed the magazine down onto a bench. "Typical garbage those mindless gossipers print. What, he doesn't think that's true, does he?"

"Vell he didn't- until lover boy showed up at the club last night."

"You've got to be kidding. Oliver's a friend. He was my quidditch captain back at Hogwarts. These pictures? We ran into each other at that bar. First time we had seen each other in years."

Zograf held his hands up in surrender. "It's not me you should explain too." Harry glared at the man for a brief second, but he knew it was true. Instead he turned and stripped. He showered and dressed in record time, forcing tired muscles to work faster and was leaving the locker room while most of the others were still under the water.

He apparated directly into Viktor's flat, knowing it was rude but too pissed to care. He heard the shower running and marched into the bathroom. "Vut are you doing here?" The deep voice snapped from behind the shower curtain.

Harry reached forward and jerked the material away so he could glare face to face. He had to force himself to keep his eyes on the other mans face. Despite the fact that they were naked around each other on a near daily basis and had seen each other in the shower, standing full frontal in front of this extremely well built man covered in soap suds and dripping was a whole other level.

He held up the magazine he had grabbed on his way out. "Is this why you've been such an ass the last few days?" He demanded. Viktor scowled at him before he tilted his head back to rinse his hair, ignoring him completely. He stepped out of the tub as soon as the suds were gone and wrapped the large handing towel around his waist. He pushed past Harry, still ignoring him, and trudged into his bedroom. Harry, wisely, decided not to follow him and instead sat on the arm of his sofa to wait.

Five minutes passed before the other man reappeared and he came to stand in front of Harry, arms crossed and expression blank. "Vell?" He finally demanded when Harry didn't speak up. "Vhy are you here?"

"I'm here because I'm tired of tantrum."

"My tantrum?!" He scowled and took a step forward. Harry spoke again before he could continue.

"Yea, your tantrum. What else would you call it? I've been trying to talk to you for days. I had no idea why you were pissed or what was going on and then I find out it's because of a gossip rag? Excuse me for being a little peeved. I mean, do you really think I wouldn't have mentioned seeing someone after all this time? Do you think I'm that kind of person?"

"How do I know vut kind of person you are? Ve are teammates- that is all."

"That's all? Really."

"Yes, really. You haf a lover. Fine. Shag the vole bleeding Puddlemere team for all I care, but I'm not the kind of man that gets involved in other peoples relationships. You should leave, I haf nothing else to say about it."

"Shag the whole Puddlemere team? That's the kind of person you think _I_ am? Let me tell you something, Krum. Oliver and I have _never _had sex. I crashed at his house after a night at a bar and we've gotten together a couple of times sense. He's a _friend_. I haven't been with anyone in ohhh… Seven months? Stupid me, I've had my eye on someone." He stopped and glared again, crossing his own arms and digging his nails into his flesh.

Viktor took another step forward, but this time with a small frown instead of in anger. "There are pictures…"

"Pictures of two friends walking together. And ok, honestly the night in the bar something could have happened- but it _didn't_. He's actually started to see a friend of mine. Did you ever meet Fred Weasley? Well, they're going on three months now. Gods, I figured you of all people would know better then to trust what gets printed in this garbage."

He took another step forward. Harry's knees parted slightly, unconsciously, so they weren't pressed against Viktors thighs. "You had your eye on someone?" He bowed his head, put peered up into green eyes through his lashes. "Does that mean you don't anymore?"

It was Harry that reached forward and grabbed a hold of the older mans belt loops and pulled him the last step, so that they were pressed fully together. He shrugged then, a mischievous smile curving his lips. "No… no, I've still got my eye on him. But he's going to have to work for me to forgive this lack of trust."

"I'm a hard vorker." He whispered, leaning closer.

"Oh?"

"Mmmm." He nodded, staring into jade. Harry leaned up and their lips touched. They moved together slowly at first, savoring their first taste of what had been months in the making. Harry reached up and wrapped his arms around the broad chest, letting his blunt nails drag down the muscular back as he wrapped his legs around thick thighs.

***** LEMON*****

The kiss grew more aggressive at the move, Viktor moved the hand that had been cupping his lovers face down his stomach and around to dig into the flesh of his butt. He grinded his hips against the budging hardness that answered. He left tempting lips to trail across his cheek, down his jaw and to his neck. He stopped at Harry's small gasp and tightened fingers and started nibbling on the spot that gave him so much pleasure.

He ran his other hand down from its position of his back to grip his thigh and hefted him effortlessly off the arm of the couch without warning. Harry wrapped his legs tighter around his waist and leaned down to kiss him. He was expecting to be dropped down onto the mattress when arrived but he wasn't- he was lowered reverently, Viktor moving with him so that their bodies never parted.

Cloths began disappearing and heated flesh was exposed. Viktor explored every inch of flesh as it was exposed, Harry silently vowing to do the same at a later date because he was not going to interrupt his lovers complete dominance over the situation. That didn't mean he was passive, however, and his hands and mouth (when his partner was in range) were constantly moving.

Their joining, when it finally came, was as painful as seven months of celibacy would be for anyone and Viktors sex was just as stocky as the rest of him. The pain faded and pleasure bloomed. Skin moved over skin, fingers groped, mouths moved and the air was filled sounds of ecstasy. Sweat pooled as their passion grew, movements became more sporadic and their verbal expressions grew louder still. Orgasm ripped through them scarce seconds apart and they fell into a tangled heap of panting, sweaty flesh.

***** END LEMON*****

Viktor pulled away with a wince and gathered Harry to lay on his chest, both still breathing heavier then normal. Harry absently ran his fingers over his lovers skin, deep in thought. His voice, when he spoke up, was quiet- hardly more then a whisper. "So… would you still not care if I slept my way through the Puddlemere team?" He asked some minutes later, trying to brush off his pounding heart as a result of their lovemaking.

He was pulled upwards until they were eye to eye and he wished for a second that he could take back the question. "I vould have cared even had none of this happened. I care a great deal for you and now that I have you I don't think I could to let you go. Vat I said vas spoken in haste and anger. I am sorry."

A smile bloomed across Harry's face. His eyes lit up with the happiness coursing through his veins and, after a lingering kiss, scooted back down to rest his head on a strong shoulder and bask in the glow.

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_The end. _

*Lev- Bulgarian currency.


End file.
